


pulse to pulse (now shush)

by queerly_it_is



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, some mild d/s elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerly_it_is/pseuds/queerly_it_is
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't do it like this all the time. Liam's not sure he could handle it, honestly. He needs time in between to rebuild himself, get his feet under him again and let the intensity fade a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pulse to pulse (now shush)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KateMonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateMonster/gifts).



> This is entirely the result of peer pressure. Title from Alt-J's 'Dissolve Me'.

They don't do it like this all the time. Liam's not sure he could handle it, honestly. He needs time in between to rebuild himself, get his feet under him again and let the intensity fade a bit.

Sooner or later though, he always ends up here. Eyes catching Zayn's, lips flicking across his lips, hands maybe shaking a little when he reaches out. Zayn does this to him, and it's terrifying. He's addicted.

They've got maybe an hour in the room to themselves, the rest of the boys off mucking about in the hotel's massive pool. The door isn't locked. It's not like they'd be surprised, at this point.

Liam shakes when Zayn's hand strokes down his face, cups the side of his neck. He wants to shut his eyes but he doesn't. He wants to breathe but he can't.

"S'okay, man," Zayn murmurs, always so fucking gentle, like he thinks Liam's gonna shatter, a crystal glass you run your finger around 'till the noise builds and it cracks, falls apart. If he's got a whine or a hum like that, then Zayn’s the only one who can hear it.

His breath spills everywhere when Zayn kisses him, works his mouth open and licks into him slowly, deliberately, and it helps, gives Liam something to focus on that isn’t the burning blush on his cheeks or the tremble in his thighs where he’s kneeling on the bed. Zayn’s tongue flicks over his lips, air from his lungs in Liam’s throat, and Liam hears the whimper before he recognises his own voice in it.

It turns slick and dirty, like it always does, Zayn urging Liam’s tongue into his mouth, back and forth until Liam really can’t feel the nervous pins and needles in his fingers, isn’t embarrassed in a sideways sort of way that he can’t explain by how hard he is, how much he’s leaking on the covers just from this.

“D’you want to come now or later?” Zayn asks him, pulling away so he can look him in the eye. Liam makes himself look back, even if his cheeks get even warmer and all his words blow away like curling flecks of bonfire ash, drifting out of reach.

“I, um. Fuck. Later,” he gets out, and Zayn gives him an easy smile, turning from one version of himself to another and back again so quick Liam blinks. He doesn’t know how Zayn does that, makes it seem so easy when Liam feels like he’s tightrope walking without a net.

Zayn kisses him again, fast and light on one side of his mouth and then the other. “Bend over for me,” he says, not a hint of anything in his voice that weighs more than a feather, but it slips around Liam’s bare skin like rope or leather anyway.

It’s funny, how he feels so _much_ , and so fucking _free_ , from something he thinks of as restraints, but that’s what it boils down to. _Save me from myself_.

Zayn moves to the side to let Liam tip forward, hands on the pillows and knees sliding apart. His hand strokes down Liam’s back, goosebumps chasing it right to the bottom of his spine, the start of his arse. “That’s it,” he says, and Liam takes a breath that snaps somewhere in his throat.

He leans down until his shoulders are on the bed, tucks his head down so his forehead’s pressing to the mattress. Zayn’s hands rub up the insides of his thighs and he swallows, does it again when it scrapes dry and loud. Zayn tugs and moves him ‘til he’s open, spread apart, and Liam knows what he looks like, arse in the air and shoulders shaking, skin red where it’s not pale or inked. He knows he looks desperate, like he’s gagging for it, like he’ll take whatever Zayn wants to give him, and there’s a noise trapped in the spaces between his ribs, animal and needy, vulnerable in every way that scares him so much but that Zayn handles like it’s nothing, even though he knows it’s not.

Zayn teases him a little, backs of his fingers stroking up the backs of Liam’s thighs, to the crooked hollows of his knees and the crease where his legs become his arse. By the time he spans his fingers over Liam’s cheeks there’s a tremor shaping a line up his back, in the dip between his shoulders, sweat itching at his hairline. It takes so _little_ for Zayn to do this to him, and he swears it’s less every time. One day it’ll be just a look, or a word. One day Zayn’ll have him so totally he won’t have to do anything at all and Liam will crumble for him; one day Liam will beg him for it.

“What d’you need, Liam?” Zayn asks, punctuates it with a kiss to the top of Liam’s arse. He knows what Zayn’s really asking: _how far should I go?_ The finish line gets moved a bit every time.

“I—,” he starts, has to swallow again because he doesn’t think he can manage a cough without it coming out as a sob. “Your mouth,” he manages and it has that _snap_ of being real that sticks his tongue to the roof of his mouth and makes his dick slap up into his belly, probably dripping everywhere. “ _Please_ , can you—I want your mouth.”

He feels Zayn’s lips again, the moving shape of them and the brush of air. He doesn’t need to hear the, “Good boy,” to know it’s just been stitched onto his skin, same place as always. Some tattoos you can’t see.

The heat pooling across his face and his neck gets stronger when Zayn grips his arse and pulls him open, cool air suddenly whispering over his hole making him shiver, clench his eyes shut and push his face harder into the bed.

“So fucking pretty,” Zayn says, and it’s still somehow casual, as if he’s impartial when Liam knows he’s just as hard, that he likes this just as much even if it’s from the other side of the coin. It gets him in the gut, the way Zayn can look at him and talk about him as if he’s not affected at all, turns him on that much more to imagine himself doing this for Zayn while Zayn just uses him.

There’s a white-hot press midway down his thigh, Zayn’s teeth digging in hard enough to leave a mark. Then another, a couple of inches higher, indents in the muscle and skin that Liam can see going from white to red inside his head. Zayn’s still got him spread open, making him feel the heat of his own body and the air of the room rubbing together, impossible to forget how _bare_ he is just then, how he’s pink and tight and exposed.

Another mark gets stamped into him on the lowest part of one arse cheek, and Zayn holds that one for longer, bites a little harder until Liam can’t stop the whine or the shaky twitch of his fingers with the sheet all tangled between them, palms sweating and belly shaking as he tries to breathe.

“Yeah,” Zayn murmurs, like he’s talking to himself. Then, “Yeah I think you’re ready,” like he’s pleased – like he’s _pleased with Liam_ , thinks he’s done well, and he can’t tell if the flare of pride in his chest comes before or after the jerk of his cock, balls drawn up tight already.

Then Zayn’s tongue meets his skin just behind his balls, and he can’t tell much of anything anymore.

It’s a broad swipe, over the tight bit of skin leading up between Liam’s cheeks, Zayn’s hands with their long fingers prying him open. When he gets to Liam’s hole Zayn’s tongue forms a point and slips around it, wet and so hot Liam feels it skimming up his spine in waves. He almost buckles when Zayn hums, the scrape of the hair on Zayn’s jaw and around his lips like fingernails scraping to the base of Liam’s neck, rubbing him raw.

He’s biting at his lips, sucking them to keep the noises down until they sting and tingle, taste faintly of copper and burn when he smears his mouth against the covers. He knows he’s not being quiet – he’s never quiet when they do this, fractures of high whines and whimpers, moans and pleading little grunts as his hips jerk back into Zayn’s face, his tongue.

Zayn’s fingers slide around and grab his hips, hold him still while he laps right over Liam’s hole with the flat of his tongue, fits his lips there and _sucks_ , every bone in Liam’s body juddering with his shakes as he mashes his face into the bed and cries out for it.

His pulse is pounding between his legs, up the length of his prick, a maddening little echo to the way his heart’s banging against his ribcage, all the air in his lungs superheated. He’s trying not to bite his tongue, trying not to turn his face to the side and beg Zayn to fuck him, finger him, fill him up until that’s all he can feel and he comes screaming.

It’s inhuman, the racket he makes when Zayn’s tongue curls up inside him pushes in and makes him wet, spit running to his balls and Zayn’s moans ending up somewhere near his gut. He can feel how tight he is, clenching and fluttering all messy-hungry around the sick muscle and against the soft plush of Zayn’s lips. There’s more heat building where Zayn hasn’t shaved properly in weeks and it’s burning, scraping him. He thinks about having to sit funny on the bus, walk wide-legged to avoid the soreness, and the bit of duvet he’s sucked between his teeth turns even more damp when his mouth floods wet.

One of Zayn’s hands leaves his hip and claps down hard on one arse cheek and he yelps, short-sharp and broken. Zayn’s other hand pulls him in tight and keeps him there, fucked open on his tongue as he twists it, pulls out to spit filthy and crude against his hole and then jabs in again.

It turns to a rhythm, fast and sloppy, Liam with his forehead dripping sweat and his cock dribbling precome, arse held open against the red print Zayn’s left on him and hole spread around Zayn’s tongue.

He knows he can come from this, knows he’s probably – definitely – going to, he just doesn’t want to yet, doesn’t want it to be over.

Zayn lets go of Liam’s hip and cups his balls, squeezes them just a little, not enough to hurt but enough to ache low in Liam’s belly, and his tongue dips down from his hole to where his fingers are rolling Liam’s balls and then back up, over his hole to the top of his crack, down and sliding back into him. He’s looser now, a little, Zayn getting inside easier, deeper, the scratch of his beard right over Liam’s hole.

“Christ,” Zayn mutters, close enough his lips almost tickle. “You’re a fucking mess, Liam. So wet.” He breathes hot and damp against Liam’s hole. “Wet like a girl, mate.”

He fucks his tongue back in, lips pressing tight to Liam’s skin, fucking _eats_ at him until Liam can’t breathe around it. The hand on his balls slides up onto his cock, loose and following the shape of him right to the head, fingertips curling around him and rubbing little circles that spark across Liam’s nerves and smear precome everywhere.

Zayn grips his cheek hard and shoves his tongue deep at the same time that he opens his mouth wide and lets Liam feel the scorching rush of his breath, wet slide of his lips, the hard ridges of his teeth, all that spit everywhere. He clamps his mouth around Liam’s hole, tongue in him and teeth pressing tight, and when his fingers squeeze the head of Liam’s dick Liam comes in a messy rush, spurting and catching on Zayn’s fingers, clenching around his tongue. Zayn groans, right up into him, and Liam’s gasping into the covers as his cock lets out a couple more weak pulses, eyes shut so tight it hurts and his whole body locking up, toes curling and thighs shaking.

When he gets a hold of himself enough to breathe and loosen his muscles a bit, Zayn’s pressed up against him, body moving with his hand on his own prick. Liam’s expecting to feel come land on his back, hot like a brand, but Zayn moans and swears and comes across Liam’s arse, striping a cheek and landing in the clef of him, right onto his hole, dripping down onto the bed and the skin behind Liam’s balls.

He’s still shaking when Zayn nudges him onto his side, lies down facing him and tangles their legs up. He wipes his hand on the bed then wraps his fingers around Liam’s wrist, squeezes until Liam’s chest shudders and his breathing slows down, Zayn’s thumb and middle finger sitting on his pulse point.

Zayn smiles at him when he makes his eyes focus, mouth bright red and lips still shiny wet. He ducks in and kisses Liam’s forehead, and it’s stupid but he blushes anyway, smiles. He’s got Zayn’s eyes holding his and Zayn’s fingers tracking his heart, Zayn’s breath scattering faintly on his face, and it’s that feeling of being restrained but free again, mixed up in the heavy weight of his own body.

“You should kip for a bit,” Zayn says, not quite a whisper but not really talking either, voice measured out carefully with just enough weight, like stepping on a frozen pond.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling again. “Thanks.”

Zayn snorts, gives him this fond look. “Not exactly a burden, man.”

It shouldn’t mean anything but it does. It shouldn’t be everything, but it is.

Liam dozes off with Zayn watching over him.

 


End file.
